


Champions Made of Suet

by ariel2me



Series: March to Winterfell [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 03:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1843180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Broken quick as that, thought Asha. My champion is made of suet. Even so, Ser Justin was one of the few who might object should the queen’s men try to burn her. So she rose to her feet, donned her own cloak, and followed him out into the blizzard. (A Dance with Dragons)</p><p>AU in which Asha found Justin when she followed him out into the blizzard. Hilarity (possibly) ensued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Champions Made of Suet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deisegal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deisegal/gifts).



_"Oh, leave off, Godry,” said Ser Justin Massey, a loose-limbed, fleshy knight with a ready smile and a mop of flaxen hair. Massey had been one of the wrong-way rangers. “We all know what a big giant sword you have, I’m sure. No need for you to wave it in our faces yet again.”_ _**(A Dance with Dragons)**_

 _“_ _Gods?_ _” said Richard Horpe. “You forget yourself, Justin. We have but one god here. Speak not of demons in this company. Only the Lord of Light can save us now. Wouldn’t you agree?” He put his hand upon the hilt of his sword, as if for emphasis, but his eyes never left the face of Justin Massey._

_Beneath that gaze, Ser Justin wilted. “The Lord of Light, aye. My faith runs as deep as your own, Richard, you know that.”_

_“It is your courage I question, Justin, not your faith. You have preached defeat every step of the way since we rode forth from Deepwood Motte. It makes me wonder whose side you are on.”_

_A flush crept up Massey’s neck. “I will not stay here to be insulted.” He wrenched his damp cloak down from the wall so hard that Asha heard it tear, then stalked past Horpe and through the door. A blast of cold air blew through the hall, raising ashes from the fire trench and fanning its flames a little brighter._

_Broken quick as that,_ _thought Asha._ _My champion is made of suet._ _Even so, Ser Justin was one of the few who might object should the queen’s men try to burn her. So she rose to her feet, donned her own cloak, and followed him out into the blizzard. **(A Dance with Dragons)**_

\----------------------------

“Justin?” Asha called out. There was no answer. “Ser?”

He could not have gone far, thought Asha. She had followed him out of the longhall almost immediately, and the heavy blizzard would have slowed down his movement considerably.

“Ser? Ser Justin?” She continued calling out his name. Where could the man be? Had she followed the wrong path?

 _Ridiculous_ , Asha thought. _Who is he to me after all?_ Just a knight who was considerate to her well-being because he had his own design and his own purpose towards her. Why should she care if he wished to nurse his wounded pride freezing to death or buried under six feet of snow? If the man wanted to sulk, then let him sulk.

Asha pushed on, however. “Ser? Ser Justin?”

She heard his voice, before she saw him. “I thought you agreed to call me Justin.”

 _Justin. I insist_ , he had told her earlier, in the midst of stabbing a chunk of meat on his plate with a dagger. Asha had found it … well … not repulsive, actually. (The meat-stabbing, that is, not the ‘ _call me Justin_ ’ part. That part Asha found extremely worthy of an eye-roll, and she had to work very, very hard to suppress one.)

In fact, watching Justin attacking that chunk of meat with such zeal was almost -

Never mind what it was _almost_.

He was sitting under a tree, vigorously, almost violently, polishing his sword. Asha had to blink twice to convince herself that she was neither dreaming nor hallucinating. Had the cold made him lose his mind?

 _It is your courage I question, Justin, not your faith._ Richard Horpe had as good as accused Justin of being a coward, in the presence of most of Stannis’ lords and knights. And Horpe’s hand had rested on the hilt of his own sword as he was making that accusation.

Perhaps Justin meant to -

“Are you planning to use that sword on Ser Richard?” Asha asked, hoping that was not the case. Justin Massey might have been an easily-broken champion, but even a broken champion was better than a dead one.   

(Or perhaps Justin Massey and Richard Horpe only meant to compare the size of their respective swords. The steel one, as well as the other kind. It was almost like an imperative some men could not resist; waving their supposedly big, giant swords in everybody’s faces.)

“Richard Horpe is a bastard,” Justin said, still polishing his sword. The steel one, obviously.

 _He couldn’t be_ , thought Asha, _or his name would be Storm, not Horpe_. It took a few moments for Asha to catch on that Justin was actually _swearing_ , not stating a fact about Horpe’s parentage. Well, why should that be a surprise to her after all? Greenlanders might be well and truly behind the ironborns when it came to their facility with the more colorful parts of the language, but there was that greenlander knight at Deepwood Motte who had loudly and repeatedly called Asha a ‘ _cunt_ ’ as he was busily trying to separate her head from her body.

Justin Massey, though, he had always seemed so courteous to Asha - the very image of a soft, pliant greenlander - that to hear him swearing now did come as a surprise to her.

Then again, Justin was a knight after all, and he had followed Stannis into countless battles. He must have killed men and drew blood with his sword, even with that particular sword he was polishing. Asha looked closer, and saw that he was using his cloak to polish the sword.

“My cloak is torn,” he said, sounding sheepish, once he cottoned on to Asha’s disbelieving gaze. “It must have caught on to something sharp.”

She had heard the tear when Justin violently wrenched his damp cloak from the wall. Richard Horpe had heard it too, and there was a smirk on Horpe’s face as he watched Justin storming out of the longhall. _Look at that_ , Horpe’s expression gleefully suggested, _the sulky little boy storming out without eating his supper_ _because the big boys were mean to him._

That sulky man-child was now shivering without his cloak. Asha suppressed a sigh of irritation. Had the cold softened the head of these greenlanders? Yes, the frozen bite of the North had taken its toll on Asha too, but at least she knew better than to wander into the middle of a blizzard without wearing a cloak. They had seen too many men die of cold and hunger after during this long, hard and seemingly endless march.

(And a dead Justin Massey very possibly meant a dead Asha Greyjoy too, she was well aware of that fact.)

“I could think of better uses for your cloak other than for polishing a sword,” Asha said, trying to keep her tone playful, and not in any way sounding reproachful or critical. _Men._ _Men with their pride and their fragile ego._ She knew Justin’s pride had been bruised and battered quite a bit during the confrontation with Richard Horpe.

“Oh?” Justin raised his head, meeting Asha’s gaze. “Should I wrap you in my cloak and carry you off to safety, my lady?”

Asha almost snorted, but managed to stop herself in time. Was the man actually flirting with her? Now, of all time? _Unbelievable_. She had to hand it to him; even at his lowest moment, Justin Massey still managed to keep his eyes on the prize. Well, obviously she had to keep her eyes on the prize too.

“Would you really carry me off to safety, if I consent to be wrapped in your cloak, Justin?” Asha asked, giving him her widest smile, remembering to call him _Justin_ and not _ser_.

Justin paled. “Ah …. I … that is … you see … well, I meant that as a jape, my lady.  Stannis … my king … you are Stannis’ prisoner, not mine. Regretfully, I cannot – I must not … even if I wanted to-”

Asha laughed. “I was merely jesting. I do not expect you to betray your king for my sake, Justin.”

(Still, it wouldn’t hurt for her to try, Asha thought. Even if she held scant hope of succeeding.)

Justin’s expression relaxed for a moment, to reveal the man Asha had been used to seeing, the smiling knight who, unlike most of the others, strangely did not seem to have been brought down low by the dire and depressing condition they were facing. But a cloud soon darkened his expression. “Of course, Stannis probably thinks I’m betraying him already, when Horpe whispers his poisonous words about my supposed lack of faith and my supposed lack of courage.”

“Surely you could go to the king first, and let him know your side of the story?” Justin _had_ been making reasonable points about the dangers of attacking Winterfell in the condition Stannis’ men were in at the moment. Stannis was stubborn, yes, but Asha doubted that the man was suicidally reckless.

Justin shook his head, looking uncharacteristically glum and gloomy. “That would not help matters at all. Stannis has no patience for bickering lords or petty grievances and quarrels.”

“I don’t think pointing out the various dangers and risks inherent in a plan can be considered petty grievances.”

“I made my case against marching to Winterfell back when we were still at Deepwood Motte,” Justin said, sounding resigned, “and the king chose to take the advice of others.”

Asha was unhappily reminded of all the times she had tried to counsel her father against one reckless plan or another, and had been completely rebuffed. Balon Greyjoy might have wanted his daughter to sit the Seastone Chair after him, but he had not -

No, this was not the time to dwell on that. In any case, Asha had no illusion about her father; Balon Greyjoy was a brave man, but he had not been a good lord.

She wondered if Justin Massey still held any illusion about Stannis Baratheon. Justin seemed to have lost his faith in the Red God, but what about his faith in his king?

“If only Lady Melisandre is here,” he said, startling Asha.

“You are still a devout believer of the Red God after all?”

Justin shrugged. “Truth be told, I know not what the Red God could do, or any other god for that matter. But Lady Melisandre has great powers, I cannot deny that. We have never lost a battle when she is with us.” He paused, considering. “And if she is here now, perhaps Stannis would not be so lost.”

Asha thought of that king secluded in the watchtower, staring at the flames with his hooded eyes as if searching for a beacon of lost hope, and wondered if Justin was right after all.

Then again, the Red Priestess being here with them could encourage the queen’s men even further in their fervor to burn the unbelievers, including Asha. Asha shuddered. Justin noticed. “Are you cold, my lady?” He asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Asha, I insist,” Asha replied, forcing herself to smile at him. _Would you still object to the queen’s men burning me, if the order comes from your Lady Melisandre?_

The Drowned God had never listened to her prayer, but this time Asha prayed nonetheless, silently. _Let that Red Priestess stay wherever she is._

“She will not come,” Justin said, as if almost as if he had heard her prayer. “Lady Melisandre told us that she has a great task to perform at the Wall, to ensure King Stannis’ victory.”

“Well, then I’m sure King Stannis would be victorious,” Asha said dryly.

Justin rose slowly from his sitting position. Putting his sword back where it belonged, he said in a serious tone, “Your wit and quick tongue will always be pleasing to me, my lady. But some of the more fervent queen’s men might not feel the same.”

Asha reddened. “I do not mean to question your god, or your priestess.”

“Oh you can question my anything, my lady,” Justin said cheerfully. “It is only when we are with others that I fear you have to guard your words more carefully.”

“Anything at all?”

 _“Anything at all_ ,” Justin replied, with great emphasis, brushing off a few strands of hair that had fallen over his left eye, looking more like The Smiler of old, and less like the sulking knight nursing his wounded pride.

“Well, right now I question the wisdom of staying out in the cold without wearing a cloak,” Asha said.

Justin laughed. Before, Asha had found the sound of his laughter grating at the best of times, but this time it came as a relief. “You’re right, my lady,” he said, draping the cloak over his shoulder. The tear was visible and quite large, but at least the cloak was still some sort of protection against the cold. He escorted her back to her tent, and after he left, Asha was almost sorry to see him gone.

  


End file.
